Desiring Desperation
by Kyeltsar
Summary: Escaping captivity wasn't on her mind, but she didn't exactly have a choice. Kirkwall isn't exactly a friendly place, and the demon is the least of her worries...
1. Prologue

Dust is such a strange thing.

It appears seemingly from nowhere, layers building over hours and hours. A small nuisance, perhaps, though it stuck to everything. Hours sweeping, cleaning every little surface, every table, chair, cabinet that it fell upon, careful not to inhale. It stuck onto hands, the grime building up as it mingled with the sweat that came with the exhaustion. It would find its way into the oddest of places, the darkest of corners, unrelenting in its spread throughout the buildings. And yet, when it seems as if all of it has dissipated, brushed into the cool rigid wind of the Tevene winter, the night would pass, and it would appear again, as if it was mocking the world.

She accepted long ago that dust did not intend to mock her, ridicule her hours of cleaning, of service. The dust simply was, it existed, it didn't mean to be a nuisance to her. It knew nothing of the world, or at all. And besides, it was as much a prisoner to the wind as she was in this world.

Her thoughts were abandoned as she finished brushing off the dust on the cabinet, a small inspection following before she was satisfied. She looked around the room, carefully inspecting each surface, the smallest details accounted for. Her sharp eyes missed nothing, the smallest specks of dirt, nearly invisible, brushed away. It was a skill she had relied upon for the longest time, one she had needed.

It was one all the slaves needed.

She was shoved back into her room, the door slammed behind her with the clang of the physical locks and the soft invasive hum of the magical locks following shortly after. Slumping against the wall on her makeshift 'bed', she stared back at the blank space which had always greeted her at the end of the day's work around the mansion. She had been here for over ten years, and had shared this space with several others. At one time, there were four other slaves in the cramped, tiny cell. Escape plans were whispered around at night, the others usually ignoring the tiny girl sleeping on the hay. And sometimes, sometimes in the mornings they would be gone.

Down to the basement, their wails and screams penetrating the walls as she went about her duties. There was never any escape. And as she grew, the stream of slaves that trickled into her cell had all but vanished. Now all she had in her cell was a larger list of duties and the whistling of wind through the tiny gaps in the wall.

Her dinner was waiting for her after an entire day of household duties; a small piece of stale bread. Just enough to keep her from starving, but her stomach was always gnawing at her from the inside. She picked it up, inspecting it carefully for any signs of mould before chewing through it slowly. She stopped when she bit into a small raisin, a slight curl at the edge of her mouth. The baker must have dropped it in accidentally, and she cherished what little flavour it had to offer.

* * *

><p>The luxury of taste was one she did not experience often.<p>

On a good day, she would be left alone by the magister and any guests that he may have had at the time; Left alone to clean the mansion from top to bottom, to glance out the windows at the fading sun that signalled the end of the day and to curl up cold, lonely, but alive on the stone floor of her cell. On bad days, the magister would take out his frustrations on her. The pains, aches and bruises, she was numb to them all by now. Blood lingers for longer than pain, and the type of blood the magister worked with was more unpleasant to think about than the bleeding.

When she was jolted awake with the feel of cold metal latched onto her limbs, a blindfold over her eyes and senses assailed with what was unmistakably blood...

She wasn't entirely sure what this would be listed as, but it was very quickly turning into disaster.

'...ations are complete.'

'A hundred aren't cheap you know. Are you sure this is worth it?'

'That is just a drop in the ocean compared to what this could accomplish. Ready the slaves.'

The screaming began.

* * *

><p>She wasn't sure what to expect when she woke up on the floor- disregarding the thoughts that she wouldn't wake up at all. Her eyes stayed sealed, wishing herself to fall back into the inky darkness of unconsciousness that would envelop her, keep her from thinking at all. The room was quiet, yet with her hearing slowly becoming clearer, sound slowly seeped into her surroundings. The occasional drip of liquid falling to the floor in a maddeningly inconsistent rhythm, and a muffled, sharp noise that she couldn't quite place- small reinforcements of her desire to return to slumber. She had a terrible, terrible feeling about whatever the sound was, and despite all of her common sense screaming at her to move, she lay still on the floor, almost childishly willing it all to go away.<p>

As expected, it didn't.

The fog from her slumber finally dissipated, the increased clarity in her mind slowly turning to what had happened. Her Master's face, blood splattered across his face, spluttering as his last breath escaped him.

He wasn't her Master anymore.

He was dead.

The nausea, before unnoticed, suddenly hit her unprepared, her dulled senses finally returning when the smell of blood and death overwhelmed her and she tried, unsuccessfully, to hold off the vomit that was forced out of her. She rolled over clutching her knees to her chest, trying to ignore the pounding in her head as she tried to think...

It scared her.

It scared her more than the pain that was inflicted each week, her growling stomach screaming at her to be satiated... It scared her more than her tormentor. After all, pain was temporary. Stable, constant, yet temporary. She could deal with it. She had done it for seventeen long, drawn out years. She could continue doing that for the rest of her time. She could continue being a slave, easily. She could... She could...

She realized that this was the first time she had really thought her life through.

She realized that she was completely and utterly broken.

Strange. She thought the tears had stopped years ago.

But now...

What was going to happen to her now?

If- when they found her, they would see a crying slave covered in blood next to an assortment of corpses- including a magister. They wouldn't ask questions, and she would be off to a painful death. Could she escape? Through the back entrances of the mansion, through the poorer districts of the city, and out to the open roads? She knew there was a forest somewhere beyond the city limits, but she had never seen it herself. Would she survive there?

Of course she wouldn't. An elf running through the streets in rags away from a mansion? The common folk may hate the magisters, but they weren't stupid. There were bounties upon the heads of escaped slaves, and she knew that they wouldn't hesitate to pounce on a single elf...

Muffled noises roused her out of her thoughts; she focused upon the sound, a small distraction. The multiple walls of the mansion did an admirable job at keeping the sound obscure, until the loud squeal of an un-oiled door rushed into her ears, and voices began to shout out loud. She couldn't make out exactly what they were saying, but she didn't need to know that to figure out what was happening. They were trying to find the magister. And when they did...

She closed her eyes and prepared for the inevitable.

_**'...Get up.'**_

The thought sounded in her mind, but she didn't want to obey it. It sounded foreign, a sultry, mysterious tone to it, like it shouldn't belong...

_**'Your mistrust is... justified, I suppose, though the pressing issue of escape is still at hand.'**_

Wait... That...

Her eyes rushed open, hands pushing her back against the wall behind her as she sat up... and yet the silent, still room stared back at her.

'Wh..where are you-' She stuttered, glancing around the empty room, hoping that her suspicions were off, that there was another explanation... And yet, the voice made a small sound of annoyance, echoing inside of her mind.

_**'Well, I would have thought that to be obvious by now. I'm slightly disappointed.'**_

She dug her hands into her face as the tears started to fall again, her damp hands failing to distract her from her thoughts. She was an abomination. Despite keeping control, at least for now, a demon resided within her. She didn't even know how such a thing was possible with her limited grasp on magic, picked up through the years from what little she could understand of the magister's ramblings. Even if she managed to get herself to a safe haven, somewhere the magisters wouldn't, or preferably couldn't recapture her, nobody would accept her- if she was lucky, they would lock her up again, with even more chains and security than she had as a slave, constantly watched over for any sign of danger. If not...

Compared to such a fate, death almost seemed like a nicer option.

And that was before even considering the implications of holding a demon inside of her! What if the demon wanted to hurt her? To take control, lock her in metaphorical chains tight enough to relinquish all control? Would she take control whenever it would be convenient to.. to... She didn't even know what demons did in this world, or why! Why did they try to possess bodies? Why did they tryto cross to this world! How was she meant to know if she could trust the demon?

Only her discipline stopped her from screaming.

A small sigh resonated through her mind, before the demon started to speak again, a low, firm tone rushing through her.

_**'Look. I know you're scared right now,' **_the voice purred,_** 'but you're going to have to trust me. At least for now. The others are about to break in, and I am very certain you do not want to be here for that.'**_

She closed her eyes for a second, breathing deeply for a second before slowly standing up.

If the demon hadn't hurt her yet, taken control when she was so vulnerable... Well...

It was already better than slavery.

'O..okay.'

* * *

><p>Two hours of stumbling through the forest, and the voices finally ceased.<p>

Two hours of her legs burning as they clipped every small rock, every root in the ground, the cuts and scrapes starting to bleed.

Two hours of questioning who she really was any more.

She finally stumbled across a small hill, with half of it forming a roof of sorts. It was the best cover she had found, and the sun was about to set, so she went to gather a few small logs, stacking them like she did in the fireplace, and striking the small sparks to light the flames. She allowed herself a small smile before she took out a meal for herself from her bag; just a small portion of bread and meat, although small would imply that this wasn't the largest dinner she had eaten in years. She didn't have the luxury of any cooking utensils, so it would take a few minutes of carefully handling the food over the fire. Staring into the flames was a good way to calm herself, and calm was exactly what she needed. She needed the calm to think, to plan, to... decide.

_**'Perhaps now would be a good time to talk.'**_

She almost burnt her hand as the voice startled her.

'Okay...' she replied, eyeing the flames with slightly more attention.

_**'I understand that my kind may not be the most... trustworthy, correct?'**_

'Yes...'

_**'I believe the mage was attempting to discover if the inhabitants, for the lack of a better word, of the Fade were able to be pulled into the physical realm.'**_

'Isn't that simply summoning a demon?' she asked in confusion.

_**'Demons are... naturally attracted to summons, as summoning weakens the barrier between the realms. The taste of this realm is ever so sweet.'**_

She wasn't sure whether to be frightened or intrigued by that statement.

_**'This mage, however, was trying to forcibly bind a demon against its own will. Keep in mind that demons are not trapped by a mage when summoned; they chose to cross the barrier, they hold the power that the summoner wants. It takes a remarkably strong mage to gain what they truly wanted from summoning demons.'**_

'So he managed to bind you to... me?' she asked, confusion still etched across her face. 'Even if it had worked properly, I don't see how that would have benefited him...'

_**'You see, this was not his final goal. If he had not died upon his own magic, and I was still bound to you, you can be certain that he would have been able to contain us with magic. If he could pull a demon across against their will, then he could find ways to manipulate even the strongest of any of the spirits.'**_

A small thought occurred to her over the crackling of the fire and the aroma of her meal. 'How do you know all this?'

_**'It is not the first time a mage has attempted this; and I could feel the ambition radiating outwards.'**_

'But now you're trapped within me.' She said, taking her meal out of the fire before gingerly taking a small bite, the heat almost burning her mouth before she swallowed,

_**'I underestimated the mage's power; I suppose this is the consequence. Which brings us back to the question of what you are to do now.'**_

'I... I suppose escaping Tevinter would be the first thing to do.'

_**'And which way exactly?'**_

'Well...'

She hadn't thought that far.

She knew she had to start making these decisions... But there was so much to consider, so much to plan, so-

She forced herself to calm down. There was a large map framed in gold hung above the main fireplace in the mansion... Tevinter was at the northern end of the land... So she would travel south. South to... To...

The other escaped slave. Escaped to the Free Marches...

They had said that they had been searching for two years... If the other slave had lost the magisters there for years...

She could do the same.

_**'Conviction is always a good first step...'**_

She didn't know what to make of that.

* * *

><p>The small cave was fairly unassuming. It dug into the mountain, like most caves would, and the inky darkness was all she could see. Apart from the rats. And the cobwebs.<p>

It was hard getting a lead, but she had eventually cornered one in an alley who was all too eager to spill his secrets. She had observed the smugglers for a few days. Contraband arrived from all over, legitimate trades blending in with those done behind the counter. And it all lead back to Kirkwall.

From the outside view she had, Kirkwall made Tevinter look bright and cheerful. A remarkable feat, really.

_**'They're coming now.'**_

Nodding slowly, she ducked her head behind a large pile of rocks, peering at what she could through the cracks as the shipment of goods was delivered. The leader of the smugglers checked the packages over, the collection of various poisons, potions and assorted 'goods', before nodding in approval as the men hauled the packages inside.

And then the elf stared directly at her through the rocks.

'So, why are you here?'

Her legs aching from the hours spent kneeling behind the rocks, she pushed herself up off the ground with a groan.

'How-'

'None of my men have footprints that light.' The smuggler steps towards her, her voice lowering. Dangerous. 'Now again, why are you here?'

_**'I suppose we'll have to remember to cover our tracks better next time.'**_

_'Yes, best of plans, really. Follow a smuggler into a cave, it will be fun. Perhaps even antagonise a blood mage.'_

'Kirkwall. I want in.'

The smuggler stares her down for a bit, eyes narrowing at her voice. 'You're from Tevinter, aren't you? How long have you been running?'

_**'She's more perceptive than I thought a smuggler would be. Interesting...'**_

She hesitates before the words tumble out. 'Three years.'

The smuggler smiles.

'Three years? Nice. I would have settled for six months at this point. Hard to come by people who can work without announcing it to the world.'

The smuggler rummages through her pockets, then throws a small badge over to her before she can overcome her surprise.

'Name's Athenril. Lucky for you, I've been hiring. Strict no slave-policy, a roof over your head and a share of the coin we earn. So, what's your name?'

'...Vivian.'

* * *

><p>AN: I hate this prologue so much but by this point I just want it out.


	2. Chapter 1: Not Most People

'WHO THE FUCK CALLED THE COTERIE ON US?'

Although she doesn't appreciate the yelling in her ear, Vivian definitely wants to know the answer to that question. The crates were all packed, the warehouse was about to be sealed, and she was certain that nobody was around the warehouse before they were ready to shift the goods out.

Perhaps certainty lost its meaning in Kirkwall.

Vivian looks around. A group of humans and dwarves are approaching from the front, shields up and swords out in front. A couple are trying to head through the shadows on the left railing and a few archers at the entrance.

'Three archers in the back. Need them gone.' She orders her small group quietly. Four ragtag smugglers in an open warehouse against a full Coterie squad. Odds could be better. She pulls out her daggers, stepping towards the wall of shields and swords facing her as a vial slips from her grasp and drops to the floor. It cracks, and the thick smoke rises as she disappears into the chaos. Knives drawing blood, the coughs of the Coterie, and the occasional scream as her group goes to work.

The Coterie expanded fast, reaching into the smallest cracks and grasping for the largest parts of the city. For most people working in the underbelly of Kirkwall, you were either with the Coterie, the Merchants guild, surrounded by mages, or dead. The beggar on the street with a dagger in his boot? The guard 'sleeping' on duty at the docks? Coterie.

Unfortunately for the Coterie, Athenril's group are not most people.

The warehouse is splattered with blood, and it'll be a bitch to explain to the owners. Not to mention the logistics of disposing of corpses. They're littered all over the warehouse and she tries not to step on any as she moves. Vivian is glad she was taken off corpse duty a long, long time ago. She supposes it's still mildly surprising how many corpses they do go through as smugglers, but it's been the only way that they've been able to survive. Not like they didn't deserve it either.

Vivian looks back at her people. The short guy, Edward, is bleeding from a gash in his side, his sword clanging to the ground as he clutches his wound. His knees buckle, and he rolls onto his back before his face smashes onto the ground. She takes out a health potion and hands it over, the warrior accepting it with a small gesture of thanks before gulping it down. It takes a few minutes, but eventually he's able to walk again without trouble. That's good. She doesn't want to be responsible if someone's limbs decide to spontaneously fail.

She's still not entirely used to being in charge of operations, but Athenril trusts her, and Vivian trusts Athenril's judgement. She supposes that it's worked out so far.

Darrian is the first one to speak up in the silence. 'Well, this could have gone better.'

'No shit.'

'Hey, least you two didn't get stabbed. That fucking hurt!'

The three descend into argument again. While it's mostly harmless, there's work to be done. Vivian coughs, and the three of them turn towards her. 'Drag the bodies over to the back corner and search them. Find anything good, hand it over and we'll look over it.'

They nod and go over to the dead Coterie as she inspects the crates in the corner.

Nothing seems missing, and with a quick count everything is accounted for. Some of the crates have blood on them, so she takes out a rag in her pocket and quickly rubs it away before it dries. It only takes a minute until everything is clean again. She's had a lot of practice.

Lorissa calls her from the corpses. 'We've got nothing Vivi. Just some coin and a shitty map someone drew of this warehouse. Coterie's getting better at this.'

She frowns at Lorissa as she gets up, gets ready to head back to Athenril and ask for help cleaning this mess up. 'Please stop calling me Vivi.'

* * *

><p>Athenril generally doesn't let work get to her, but she gives herself this one time as she slams the door to her room, slumping down into her bed with her arms as a pillow. Staring into the ceiling doesn't offer a whole lot of insight, but she's already exhausted. They're barely breaking even this month, and their savings are drying up. Work hasn't been going well at all, and it's been obvious who's been interfering.<p>

A third of the shipments they were meant to receive this week didn't arrive. One of the major cargo ships turned up on wrecked on the coast completely bare, stripped before even the scavengers or the city guard could get over. Two warehouses got raided; they could salvage one, but the other was lost. One of her people got caught by the Coterie alone in Hightown on an errand and she hasn't heard anything from him for the past week. Athenril would feel more sorry for the kid if he didn't literally waltz into Coterie territory at night drunk with a 'whore' feeding him cheap beer and leading him down dark alleyways, but at least he was decent at what he did. It's surprising how incompetent the average person is.

She at least takes solace in the fact that out of all the smugglers who didn't bend over for the Coterie, hers is the only one left standing. Unfortunately, it also means that the Coterie don't have any other smugglers to worry about. It's becoming hard. She hires the best people, the people who can fight off ambushes five to one. The Coterie is satisfied with anyone they can get their hands on. It's still not enough.

Even the Red Irons got shut down last week. Meeran was an old bastard who didn't give a damn about anything but money and power, but he was strong, independent. Took contracts from everyone who paid well enough, and the thieves didn't take it well when their paws were cut off reaching for purses. One too many thwarted raids, one too many disrupted plans, and a dead Meeran in his bed with a knife sticking out of his throat.

She hopes she isn't next.

A knock on the door rouses her from her thoughts.

'Come in.'

The door opens with light, cautious steps entering the room.

'Is everything alright?' Vivian asks. You've been silent all week.'

Athenril doesn't get up, closing her eyes and taking a few moments to answer. 'Going to be honest Vivi, things aren't looking good. If our situation doesn't change within two months, we're done.'

She hears the door close as Vivian steps into the room. A sudden weight on the bed causes her to crack an eye open as she sees Vivian sitting down at the foot of the bed.

'Please get off my bed.'

Vivian lets out a small smile. 'Please don't call me Vivi. Lorissa's picking up your habits.'

Athenril laughs. 'I'm not fully convinced that's a bad thing.' She likes Lorissa; the kid's good on her feet and her mind's sharp. She's got potential.

'Maybe.' Vivian sighs, staring down at her feet. 'I was hoping you wouldn't say that. About our situation, I mean.' Athenril knows how much this means to Vivian. Security is tight on everything coming in and out of Kirkwall. While it makes her job harder, she gets to charge more for her services, so it evens out in the end, and has the side-benefit of keeping slavers out.

Well, mostly out at least. Darktown still has them walking freely because the guard wants nothing to do with Darktown. Of course, the It's hard to hide bodies when the guards have seen every trick in the book, every fake compartment that people have ever tried, but that's never stopped anyone from trying. She supposes that it's worked at least a couple of times, otherwise the slavers wouldn't keep coming back.

Either that or most of the guard are the corrupt bastards that she knows they are. Athenril admits it's useful to slip in a bribe or two at times, but it still feels much too easy.

She gets up, sits next to Vivian and places an arm around her. She hasn't been tensing up at contact for a couple of months, which is good to see. 'I'll think of something. Fish up some old contacts, look around for a couple more jobs. Call up some people who owe me. We've survived for two years since you've come along, we'll just take it one step at a time.'

'Haven't you already been doing that?'

'Well, lets just say these are last resorts. People I...' She hesitates, '...would really rather not dealing with, that sort of thing.' It was an understatement to say the least, but she didn't need to know that. Vivian gives her an odd look. 'Oh, don't worry. I don't mean slavers. Or the Coterie.' Athenril adds hastily. She would never forgive herself for doing either of those. Neither would Vivian, and to be honest, Athenril isn't quite sure if she could survive if Vivian decided she wanted to kill her. She was ridiculously good with those daggers of hers all things considered.

The two are silent for a few minutes. Athenril's happy for some rest, while Vivian seems lost in thought. Athenril's noted that the girl tends to drift off sometimes, like she's in her own world. It takes a fair bit to wake her and she always apologises for it afterwards. Athenril doesn't blame her for them; probably some nightmares that she refuses to divulge in her, and for good reason. She's heard of the things that happen in Tevinter, and while technically frowned upon by society...

Well, polite company has never stopped someone from stabbing others in the back.

'What do you think will happen?' Vivian asks quietly, looking towards Athenril. 'If we're forced to shut down?' Athenril doesn't want to think of that possibility, but she's not stupid. She also doesn't want to think of the consequences, but there always needs to be a backup plan.

'We won't shut down. I'll figure something out.' She tries to sound reassuring, confident. She can hear the cracks in her voice, the wavering of her lip. She doesn't believe herself. It's not working.

* * *

><p>Vivian sits herself down on top of one of the buildings at the docks. It's easy enough to climb, but tall enough that no-one can see her. Looking out at the ocean at sunset is calming, to a degree.<p>

But she's not calm. Not now, when everything she's been working on, working for these last two years has the potential to crumble down within the next two months. She's made herself a home, an actual home. Sure, she was partaking in illegal smuggling and constantly fought with the local thieves... and tried to evade what slavers did make it into Kirkwall...

Well, at least it beat running.

_**'We may need to go to our last resort next month.'**_

Vivian doesn't like it. The last resort is bad. It's foolish. Borderline suicidal, actually. But at this point, she's tempted to agree that it may be necessary.

Vivian was mostly used to the occasional intrusions by now. She learned a lot of things about Illice, as the demon preferred to be called, in these last few days. She (Vivian wasn't exactly sure if demons had, or understood the concept of gender, but it was easier for her to see Illice as a she) rarely spoke when others were around. She would only talk when she wanted to; Vivian had yet to coax her into a conversation.

She tries to block everything out. Just stare at the ocean. At the boats slowly making their way in. Docking. Unpacking crates. At the small waves lapping at the edge of the docks, at the larger way making their way to the Gallows-

No. No. Nooooo. Vivian had been in the Gallows once, and that was definitely more than enough. The heavy Templar presence was enough for her to worry, the heavier than usual Tevene influence on architecture left her anxious, and the statues had made her want to throw up.

A small scraping noise on the side of the building makes Vivian turn her head. A voice soon joins.

'-on't worry. Nobody knows about this spot.' A head pops it's way into view, taking a second before he notices her. 'It's absolutely per- perfect... oh. Um. Well then.' Damian pulls himself up to the balcony, followed shortly by Lorissa who looks equally as confused. 'This is, uh... Hi Vivian.'

'...Hi.' Vivian says.

* * *

><p>Three pairs of legs dangling over the edge of the building at the docks.<p>

'So Vivi,' Lorissa says, 'We don't know anything about you. C'mon, lets hear something, anything.'

Damian nods. 'You know I came from the Dalish tribe at Sundermont. You're not from the Dalish camp, you weren't born in the Alienage... what were you doing before you came to Kirkwall?'

Vivian is conflicted. She doesn't want to tell them, she's worked so hard on getting her common tongue just right, to hide everything, but Athenril says to her that she needs to talk more to others. To open up.

The elf and the human are staring at her, waiting for an answer that she isn't sure she'll give.

Eventually, she caves in. 'Running away.'

'Hmm. I suppose I can understand that.' Damian says. 'I ran away from the Dalish because I didn't want the life they gave to me. Too much tradition, too much restriction.'

Vivian frowns. 'Did your family hurt you?'

He shrugs. 'Well, not really. It was just sort of like... they were there, I guess? They had expectations, ones I didn't want to fill, but I suppose they weren't bad. What about you?'

Vivian wishes she had a real family. The family she had, well, that was another story.

'Could have been better.' She says. It's enough for now.

Damian and Lorissa look like they're about to protest the answer when they hear shouts from the docks below.

Boats. Dozens of them.

Hundreds of them.

Vivian stands up. 'I'm heading to Athenril's.'

The two still look completely confused. 'Um... Vivi? What's happening?'

'The Fereldans are here.'

* * *

><p>'Gamlen. Where. Is. The. Coin?'<p>

Gamlen backs off from her as she advances into his house.

'Look, look, I don't exactly have the coin.' Athenril scowls at Gamlen before he holds up his hands.  
>'But, uh, just let me explain.'<p>

Athenril slams the door shut behind her. 'Don't try my patience.'

Gamlen snatches up a piece of paper from his desk and thrusts it into Athenril's hands. 'My sister ran away when I was younger. Went and eloped off to Ferelden. And now the Blight's forcing her to come back with her children.'

Athenril reads the letter. What Gamlen is saying is true. Though... 'I don't see how this helps.'

'When Leandra and her children arrive, Kirkwall isn't going to let them in. So, I figure that they'll be willing to work for their entry pass. And my dear sister Leandra. She married an apostate.'

Athenril is suddenly a lot happier with her prospects of success within the next two months.

* * *

><p>AN. Yay for present tense. And Athenril.

I suppose yay for Vivian too, but she'll have more yay as the time comes.


End file.
